


On the Verge of Boiling

by HansBlanke



Series: No One Calls It Love [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 20:20:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17107466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HansBlanke/pseuds/HansBlanke
Summary: For a moment, just for a change, they're not bored anymore.





	On the Verge of Boiling

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [У точки кипения](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/442439) by Hans Blanke. 



> My ~~lizard~~ girlfriend has requested this, so here it is.  
> (I'LL BE DAMNED SHE DREW A PICTURE OF THEM FOR ME  
> the link will be here the moment she registers and posts it, I fucking swear)
> 
> Also guess what? It's still snowing.

It was hot as hell.

They should probably get used to that though.

It was so goddamn dirty. Beads of spicy smelling sweat rolled down their sides, but seemed to evaporate from the heated bodies before reaching the bed which had long ago been awfully stained, thanks to other lucky ones' efforts. It was hard, dirty, sticky, yet the two were dirty from head to feet, too, so did it really matter? It was still true heaven compared to the frozen desert outside.

And it was _so_ fucking funny. Bashir was not much of a "girl" indeed, and it was not about his beard. The thing was clear with girls, you should lick all over them before, after and _during the process_. But what should you do about an accidental male lover? Not kiss him, sure enough.

They had successfully skipped anything of the kind in the beginning. Without a word, they had agreed not to look into each other's eyes a lot. And not touching the other unless needed had quickly gotten them to solve the clothing problem and to find some lying position that was equally uncomfortable for both of them. 

The fuss was quiet enough, not a word and not a moan escaping their gritted teeth. And although Bashir had to flinch from pain and shudder from pleasure more than once, he still could save the pretence of overwhelming passion. And he was thankful for that. Even his head kept working.

The only thing he remembered was Dax proudly complaining about Sisko being fierce as a Klingon with her. She was a girl; it was appropriate to kiss or bite her. And the man loved her. Maybe.

And _this_ no one would call love. The instinct that stuck its head up was as deep in their nature as the need for food and warmth. Yet it was not just as simple, even for them. The thought could fit in their heads no more, they could only sense it slithering over their bodies, melting into drops on their skin. Bashir gasped for air, Sisko's body heavy on him, and hissed if his hair got caught between the other man's fingers when he grabbed the bedsheets. But he would kill Ben on the spot if he stopped. And Ben, though not aware of the threat, was _not_ going to stop. His forehead comfortable against Bashir's thin shoulder, he was all but roaring from pleasure, blood pounding in his ears, his strong body tensing pleasantly.

_Perfect._

Bashir bit at his hands to focus on something else, and wondered absent-mindedly at not seeing his breath, not even exhaling smoke. He did not last long, nor he cared. He must have scratched Sisko when he gripped his hip, bringing him in closer, and gasped, his voice _dangerous,_ "Harder!.."


End file.
